La Bruja Bella
She swore she wouldn’t fall under her spell. Famous last words.
Noa Brooks had spent the last five years chasing down city hall scandals, corporate fraud, and tech-world corruption. So when her editor slid a manila folder across the desk with the words Love potions are real??? scribbled on a Post-it, she didn’t even bother hiding her irritation.
“Sure. I’ll get on this—right after I finish my exclusive with the Tooth Fairy.”
Her editor, Val, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Noa.”
“Turns out, due to inflation, molars are going for $5 a pop now. Can you even?”
“I’m afraid it’s not a joke, Noa. La Bruja Bella is blowing up on social, and I want someone smart covering it.” She tapped the folder like she was doing a card trick. Nothing happened. “The owner, Xiomara Reina, claims her potions actually work. People swear by them. Real relationships, real results. Figure out if it’s a gimmick or if there’s something else at play.”
Noa pushed her clear-rimmed glasses up her nose, a headache already forming at the mere suggestion that she waste her time on this nonsense. “By something else, do you mean witchcraft, Val?”
Val only shrugged. “I don’t care what it is as long as it’s a damn good story. And I know you’ll find one.”
Noa had learned a long time ago that arguing with Val was a lost cause. Still, she hesitated before picking up the folder, giving it one last unimpressed look. She didn’t believe in magic, and she definitely didn’t believe in love potions. But an assignment was an assignment.
“Fine,” she muttered, standing up. “Let me grab my broomstick.”
“That’s the spirit—maybe literally.”
***
Dark clouds swarmed the late afternoon sky like a gown of gnats. Noa wrapped her yellow scarf around her blonde hair, rubbing her hands over the plaid blazer that was extremely not-waterproof, and hoped for the best. The sign for La Bruja Bella—the beautiful witch—was easy to miss—a plain black awning with a small silver crow decal, tucked between a plant shop and a tattoo parlor in Oakland’s Temescal district. Noa double-checked the address, sighing before pushing open the door.
A bell chimed overhead.
The first thing she noticed was the scent—thick and cloying, like someone had distilled mulled wine into a storefront—warm amber, cinnamon, and something peppery that made the corner of her eye twitch. The air felt heavier inside, humming with something just beyond reach.
Shelves lined the walls, stocked with everything from tarot decks to carved candles to tiny vials of dark liquid. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in neat bundles. A neon sign above the counter read: Potions, Spells & Intentions.
Noa had expected—what? Palo santo, dreamcatchers, maybe some aggressively whimsical cauldron displays. Instead, La Bruja Bella was… subdued. Minimalist. Intimate. She picked up a large pink crystal shaped like…let’s be honest, a dick. It looked like a dick. Noa picked it up and nearly dropped it—it was heavy and sharp-edged with a pointy tip that one might conceivably use to spear things—hearts, perhaps, or fish—and in the scuffle to not break the pink, stabby phallus, she gripped it with both hands as it tumbled in front of her pelvis, pointing outward from her groin in an unfortunately lewd position, which was precisely when—
“I’m happy to see you, too,” a feminine voice said.
Noa blinked.
The woman leaning against the counter was decidedly not what she had pictured. No gauzy tulle, no bohemian layers, no Stevie Nicks hat perched at a rakish angle. Instead, she was all slinky black lace and dark red lips. Knee-high suede moccasins. Noa didn’t know much about lingerie, but she did know that most people wore it underneath other things. Not Xiomara Reina. She was tall and regal—substantial—as queen-like as her name implied, with the kind of confidence that came from knowing people would watch her no matter what she did.
She arched a dark, heavy brow as Noa gawped at her now. “You must be Noa. I thought you’d be a man.”
“Sorry to disappoint, Ms. Reina.”
“Who said you did?” she corrected. “And call me Xiomara please. Or Xio.”
Her voice was low and a little amused, like she was in on a joke Noa hadn’t caught yet.
Noa swallowed too many times and set the crystal dick down like it might try to penetrate her if she didn’t keep an eye on it. She pulled a thin notebook from her blazer pocket, flipping it open with a snap. “Ready to get started? I just have a few questions.”
Xio nodded, leaning against the counter. She wore a ring on every finger, and each clacked against the glass.
Noa cleared her throat. “People claim your potions actually work.”
Xio gave her a coy wink. “No foreplay, huh? I appreciate a person who gets right to the point.”
Noa stumbled at this. It was unlike her to be this easily rumpled. She tried again. “People claim your potions work—”
“They do.”
“They do say that? Or they do work?”
A lopsided smile tugged at Xio’s mouth. “Both. But I don’t expect you to take my word for anything. You seem more like a see it to believe it kind of woman.”
She moved behind the counter, the swish of her black slip nearly soundless. Noa’s eyes followed her hips, the fabric moving like water over her thighs, down her back, the round, high shelf of her backside. Noa watched, hypnotized, until she caught herself and looked away—but not before Xio noticed her noticing. A damp sweat broke out under her scarf. She tugged it off and threw it on a nearby chair, along with her blazer. “Is it hot in here?” she said, before realizing she walked right into another (thirst) trap.
Xio looked at her as if peering directly up her skirt—not that she was wearing one. “It is now.”
Mother H. Fuck.
Xio turned, running her fingers lightly over a shelf of glass bottles, some dark, some clear—filled with herbaceous-smelling liquids.
Noa rose to get a better look. “What kinds of things do people want potions for?”
“Love, mainly,” Xio said, rummaging amongst her bottles. “Cheating spouses. Heartbreak. Loneliness.” For this last one, she gazed pointedly at Noa. “Dormant desires.”
“And you fix them?”
“I offer my clients the chance to see themselves anew. To imagine a different way of being, experiencing, and moving through the world. To become enthralled with the infinite possibilities of life, some of which just might lead to better versions of themselves. The potions are a salve, but they are also not the point. The point is the chance encounter. The point is the unguarded intimacy, the questioning of the person we’ve always known ourselves to be.”
“A therapist witch,” Noa said.
Xio fluttered her eyelashes. Noa found herself transfixed by the tips—electric blue, a tripped-out sky trapped in Xio’s web. The air between them condensed—though perhaps it was the Nag Champa incense.
“What brings you in here, Noa?” Xio's voice was honey-smooth.
“I told you.” she said uncomfortably, her tone sharper than intended.
“No, you told me your assignment.” The shop owner leaned forward, her eyes a truth serum. Noa looked away. She didn’t want to be seen too clearly by this enigmatic woman, lest she be forced to look at herself too.
They remained, for a moment, in a silent standstill. The urge to confess became stronger with each passing moment. Noa kept her mouth pinched, her certainty evaporating. The familiar rhythm of interviewer and subject had somehow reversed, leaving her unmoored. When she offered no response, Xio filled the vacuum with devastating precision.
“You're frustrated,” she said, each word falling like a penny into a wishing well. “You have much ambition and much passion but you often feel thwarted, held back.”
Noa’s tongue swelled in her mouth, a foreign object choking back any denial she might have mustered.
Xio’s voice dropped lower, like a priest receiving alms. “The sufferings of the world are too great and you can’t possibly write about them all, but it doesn't stop you from trying. You feel, because of this, that you don't deserve pleasure, happiness, abandon. How could you possibly rest and relax when there's so much work to be done? You’re wrong, of course, but the sentiment is understandable.”
Noa's heart thundered against her ribs like the storm threatening to break outside. She forced it quiet, knuckles tensing around her notebook. This was just research, she told herself. Xio must’ve googled her, that was all. Anyone could do it. Her work was everywhere—her awards spoke for themselves.
“Look.” Xio’s fingers brushed the counter’s edge, drawing Noa’s gaze. “You came here to write about my shop." A knowing smile played at her lips. “But what kind of journalist would you be if you didn't experience what I have to offer?”
A sane one, Noa didn’t say. Instead, she exhaled sharply. “You want me to take a love potion?”
“I want you to take your potion.” Xio pulled a small vial from the shelf, rolling it between her fingers before holding it out. “One made just for you.”
Noa didn’t reach for it. “You just happen to have one ready?”
Xio laughed. “Of course not. This is just the base. The real magic is in the intent.” She moved closer, tipping the vial against Noa’s palm, cool glass pressing into warm skin. Xio’s other hand wrapped around hers suddenly, and when she looked up, Xio’s eyes were wet with emotion—looking right through her.
Noa had the distinct sense that she was being inspected—thoroughly and completely. The urge to turn away was overwhelming, but Noa stayed put. Warmth flared in her cheeks as Xio’s cool, brown eyes took her in. There was something both deeply unsettling and familiar about this looking—something keen, intelligent, shameless.
“Interesting,” Xio said.
“What is it?” Noa replied, then took a small step backward, shaking her head. She was playing right into Xio’s hands. She decided then to reveal absolutely nothing about herself. The contents of her heart/vagina would remain as hard and opaque as the obsidian stones that sat mum on the shelves behind her.
“Very well,” Xio said—as if Noa had spoken this aloud!—and began to chant. Or rather, sing. Something soft and whispery. A language Noa didn’t recognize. The words swayed around her like a breeze, slipping beneath her skin before she could shake them off.
Xio locked eyes with her again, her cheeks flushed now, her lips parted in an almost-sexual O. It was absurdly hot, Noa was embarrassed to note. “Now it’s ready.”
Noa took another step backward, to distance herself from that mouth. “Great performance.”
Xio just smiled. “Drink up.”
Noa hesitated. It was ridiculous. She didn’t believe in this. And yet—Xio was still watching her, waiting, like she already knew exactly what Noa would do.
And maybe that was what irritated Noa the most.
She uncorked the vial.
And drank.